


Don't break easy

by ElenyasBlood



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt Dean, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Psychic Abilities, Sam Winchester's Demonic Powers, get out of control before he even gets to know them
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-02
Updated: 2014-03-02
Packaged: 2018-01-14 08:29:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1259719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElenyasBlood/pseuds/ElenyasBlood
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Originally written for the <a href="http://chappedassmonkey.tumblr.com/">chappedassmonkey</a> <a href="http://chappedassmonkey.tumblr.com/post/76452781120/dont-break-easy">fanfiction challenge</a> on tumblr. </p>
<p><b>Prompt:</b> Sam’s psychic powers go beyond death visions. Not having learned yet how to control them, he accidentally hurts someone he loves.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't break easy

The first time Dean woke up in the middle of the night he was confused, because that didn't usually happen without a good reason. With a sudden rush of adrenaline he was up and on his feet, his body swaying unsteadily, limbs still heavy with slumber and his fingers clutching his Colt 1911 tightly.

“Sammy?” he asked into the darkness and squinted against the dim half-light of the motel room, tension firmly setting into his taut muscles. “Did you hear something?”

Sam didn't answer, his body lying perfectly still beneath the covers and his chest barely moving with every flat inhale.

“Sammy?” Dean tried for a second time and scanned the dark room, listening closely into the silence until he was sure there was nothing there but Sam and himself. With a relieved sigh he turned to his brother again and stepped closer to the bed Sam's body has sunken into after an evening of hunting, his gangly limbs wrapped around the pillow, shoulder hunched and face pressed against the damp mattress. His cheeks were covered with a mass of shaggy, brown hair and when Dean leaned in, close enough to catch a whiff of his brother's familiar musky scent, he saw Sam's lips moving rapidly in distress.

Dean's brows furrowed. “Sammy, you okay?” he asked softly, his voice gruff, and with a last check of the surroundings he dropped his Colt on the nightstand, placing his hand tentatively on Sam's shoulder.

He recognized his mistake when he felt a searing pain shoot up his spine and knock the wind out of his lungs, his chest suddenly on fire and his muscles screaming. The agony was so blinding, it felt like it would shatter his bones and crush his lungs, blood boiling hot in his veins and scorching every inch of flesh and muscle. For a second Dean thought he was going to die - and then it was over as abruptly as it had started. The pain eased, leaving nothing but a dull pounding in the back of his head and a strange tingling sensation in his fingertips.

“Dean?” Sam slurred the moment Dean's mind started spinning again, his eyes slowly cracking open. The look on Sam's face showed nothing but confusion when he straightened himself up, untangling fingers and legs from the heavy covers. “Dean? Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, it's nothing, I... hey, are you alright?”

Sam's left eyebrow hitched and he cocked his head. “Yeah, 'm fine,” he mumbled and scrubbed his hands across his face, smoothing down his unruly hair. “Did you hear anything?”

“I uh, I don't know, Sammy,” Dean shrugged and tried to wrap his head around what had just happened. Was he going crazy? Did the fucking Djinn last week in Illinois get him good after all?

Sam shot him a quizzical look. “Maybe you had a weird dream?” he suggested and flipped on the bedside lamp, scanning the surroundings with squinting eyes.

“Maybe,” Dean shrugged again and grabbed his Colt before he returned to his own bed, flopping down on the uncomfortable mattress. “But _you_ feel okay? Nothing strange happened? No bad dreams? Nothing... unusual?”

Sam shook his head, his shaggy bangs moving frantically with the sudden motion. “I'm alright, Dean,” he reassured him again and stretched his back, rolling his shoulders before he sunk into the pillows again. “Shoud we salt the threshold or-”

“No, it's okay. You're right, it was probably just a bad dream,” Dean mused and studied his hands thoughtfully, the tingling sensation slowly fading into an itch he couldn't quite put his finger on, his stomach churning unpleasantly with the memory of the blinding pain. “Turn off the light, it was nothing.”

“Are you sure, Dean? You seem off.” Sam watched his brother carefully, the look on his face concerned, his inimitable eyes still blurred with sleep.

“Yeah, I'm sure, Sammy. It's alright; I'm just tired I guess. Last week was...” Dean's voice trailed off and he replaced his Colt under his pillow after pulling the safety lever.

“Yeah, I know what you mean,” Sam agreed and snuggled deeper into his pillow, pulling the covers up with a soft sigh. “I feel like I haven't slept in weeks.”

Dean dragged his eyes away from his fingers in favor of watching his brother's face instead, taking in the sleep lines painted across his cheeks, the hint of stubble on his jaw and the chapped, pink lips under the soft outline of his nose. “You should sleep some more then,” he stated matter-of-factly and despite himself he felt a jolt of disappointment constricting his chest when Sam killed the light and covered his form in darkness again. “Night Sammy.”

“Night Dean.” And with that Sam fell into silence and left his brother to his thoughts.

________

When it happened for the second time it was in another motel, another town and another state, but the pain was the same. Dean shot awake in the middle of the night, startled by low moans and little grunts his brother spilled into the muggy air, his body thrashing around under the sheets. Sam seemed unsettled, his forehead covered in a light sheen of sweat and his bangs were glued to the sticky skin of his temples when Dean turned on the bedside lamp.

“Sammy?” he murmured, his brows furrowed, and checked the motel room like he had done the last time, only more carefully. But the windows were closed and the line of salt unbroken, the door locked and the bathroom empty. Everything was the same as it has been when he went to bed, except it wasn't.

There was something lingering in the air and it felt like the touch of electricity on Dean's bare chest, like invisible shocks running down his spine and ghosting over his skin. The hunter tried to shrug the strange touch off and stepped out into the motel room again, finding his brother squirming and keening on the soft mattress, his arms flailing and his chest heaving with every harsh breath. Without a second thought Dean surged forward. He was next to his brother and on his knees in a split second, his hands reaching out for Sam's biceps.

It was a mistake that Dean paid for with a wave of pain that washed over him, taking away _everything_ , tearing words and breath from his body and leaving him wheezing on the floor. Every muscle beneath his skin bunched and he could've sworn he could hear a few ribs break when he clutched his torso, his lungs collapsing and his heart bursting through his ribcage, smashing another bunch of bones. He heard himself screaming in the distance, his voice rising and falling with every new surge of pain, pleading and begging for it all to stop until his throat was sore.

And then it was over and Sam was kneeling next to him, his hands clutching his brother's shoulders and his voice slowly piercing the veil between the searing pain and Dean.

“Dean! Wake up, Dean!” he shouted over and over again, and from the look on his face he was worried sick, his hazel eyes wide and his mouth twisted in grief when his fingers trailed down Dean's chest. “Dean, what is it? C'mon talk to me, please Dean,” he pleaded and applied light pressure to his brother's heaving ribcage, searching for wounds or traces of a fight. But there was nothing, just Dean, covered in sweat, his eyes squeezed shut and his mouth still hanging open in a silent scream.

“Dean, you have to talk to me. What happened? Shit, Dean, c'mon, get up,” Sam whined and urged his brother into an upright position, leaning his back against the bedside. “Are you alright? Can you breathe?”

Dean managed to nod weakly before he took a careful inhale, his lungs clenching at the sudden rush of air, making him wince. “S'okay Sammy, it's over,” he slurred and wiped away a string of spit running down his chin with the back of his hand. Slowly the darkness in front of his eyes lifted and the pain ebbed away once again, leaving nothing but the tingling sensation and familiar numbness in its wake.

“Dean, what happened? Did something attack you?” Sam's gaze was wild, his body taut and ready to fight any second, the blade in his hand shaking slightly.

“No it was just a dream I guess,” Dean wheezed and dropped his head back against the mattress, his thoughts spinning and heaviness spreading through his limbs.

Sam snorted. “A dream? Are you kidding me, Dean? You were screaming at the top of your lungs for a good minute and you think it was just a _dream_? C'mon, you know better than that.”

“I don't know, Sam.”

“What were you doing on the floor anyway?” Sam's fingers found their way to Dean's forehead to wipe away the sweat that trickled out of the hunter's hairline, dabbing away the wetness and soothing the pounding ache in his brother's forehead.

“Something startled me,” Dean slurred, his voice gruff and his throat sore from screaming. “I got up to see what it was and then I... I just felt-”

“What did you feel?”

Dean shrugged. “I don't know, maybe I just had a beer or two too many. No big deal, Sammy.”

“For fuck's sake, Dean,” Sam gasped and anger mingled under the concern in his voice, his lips a thin line in a clear sign of disapproval. “You screamed like someone was skinning you alive and begged for it to stop and you're telling me you just had too much beer? Are you _serious_?”

Dean huffed out a breath and blinked away the tears that dared to streak his eyes with moisture before he lifted himself up on shaky legs. “I'm not saying it's just the alcohol, Sam, I'm just saying that I don't fucking know,” he shot back, agitated, and watched his brother scramble to his feet, too.

“Maybe you're cursed?” the younger brother suggested and he was about to reach for his laptop when Dean's fingers curled around his wrist.

“Not now Sammy,” Dean snapped and the look on his face was stern, his voice mimicking the commanding tone of their father. “It's the middle of the night and it was probably nothing. Go to sleep.”

Sam snorted and yanked his wrist free of his brother's grip. “Dean, would you please stop acting like a total asshole and let me look this up? Maybe you're cursed, maybe there's a hex bag somewhere in this room! Hell, it could be anything and you're trying to talk me back into bed?”

Dean only shrugged in return.

“I can't believe you,” Sam deadpanned and watched his brother stumble into the bathroom before he started his research, beginning with the hunt for possible hex bags.

They found no evidence of something supernatural that night. No hex bag, no symbols under the carpet, no amulets or traces of a spell, _nothing_. Sam's research didn't result in anything useful either and Dean wasn't surprised. He knew about hags and nightmars, knew their tricks and schemes and he suspected that what happened to him had nothing to do with demons or werecreatures, but with his brother. He kept his secret to himself that night, and the day after, and all the other days following as he watched the bruises on his chest slowly fade away until the last traces of the nightly encounter finally vanished from his body.

________

The next time it attacked Dean they were up in Hot Springs, Montana. It was a small town, haunted by a vicious poltergeist, and three people had already lost their lives. The brothers had spent the whole day doing research and Sam had almost collapsed into bed after a particular long chapter of how to re-summon a ghost. And this was how Dean found his brother hours later, face buried in the pillow, his fully clothed body entangled with the sheets. There was no sign of nightmares or anything similar, Sam laying perfectly still, only his fist clenching the covers violently.

Dean didn't know what startled him in the first place, but now that he was awake he once again experienced the strange feeling of electricity trickling along his skin. It felt like a warning to him, an invisible border he had better not cross. And he didn't intend to, _really_ , but then he witnessed the pained whimper breaking free of Sam's chest, clear evidence that his brother was in trouble – and he didn't give a flying fuck about any kind of warning anymore.

He reached out for Sam and no matter how much he had steeled himself against the upcoming pain it struck him hard and merciless, his body howling in despair when the blinding white ache short-circuited his nerves and lava poured into his veins, setting every inch of his body on fire. _But this time Dean didn't scream_. He didn't beg for mercy, didn't ask for it to stop, just carefully touched his little brother's shoulder and forced his fingers to move in slow, soothing circles. His mouth hung open, his chest tight and his throat dry, but he didn't say a word, no sound spilling past his lips while he comforted Sam through his nightmare until his ragged breath finally eased.

When Dean dragged his body into the bathroom afterward, surprised by his ability to walk, he felt sick, his body shaking so hard he needed three attempts to close the door behind him. Cold sweat ran down his spine and he felt like his heart must have burst through his ribcage again, leaving a giant hole and miles of bare and sore flesh in its wake. A quick look in the mirror convinced the hunter otherwise, but also showed him the prominent evidence of the nightly encounter: new bruises that bloomed all over his chest and neck.

“Goddamn Sammy,” Dean murmured into the silence and dropped his head against the cool surface of the mirror, gathering his breath and thoughts. He had to talk to his little brother; they needed to find an explanation for- whatever it was. Dean had wished for both their sakes that there would be another reason for these attacks, but there wasn't one. Weeks of research had led to nothing but a few ridiculous assumptions and with every passing day Dean came closer to accepting that it was Sam, his _Sammy_ , who couldn't control himself anymore. Something deep inside Dean broke when he admitted to himself that Sam was dangerous, and he sighed against the glass when he realized that it would demand everything he had to explain those things to Sam. But this wasn't about him; this wasn't about a few bruises and a nasty cut below his hipbone, this was about people in their charge possibly getting hurt and one way or another the brothers had to face this new obstacle.

And they _would_ fight it and overcome it, they _would_ find a way to see through this, but not tonight or tomorrow. Not during a hunt, not when Dean needed his brother to have his back and Sam's mind to be as sharp as a blade.

________

The next encounter was the last time that Sam's inability to control his psychic powers would physically hurt Dean, and it happened the next day during the hunt. It had taken them the entire day and half of the night to track that poltergeist down and after a few minutes of struggling and fighting, Sam finally managed to corner that son of a bitch while Dean frantically searched for the one thing that was keeping the ghost in this world. Their research had pointed out that only an old pair of glasses was in the running and a triumphant cry left Dean's mouth when his fingers got hold of them, his other hand already fumbling for salt, gas and lighter. He was ready to finish that bastard off, the flame already licking along the sleeve of his leather jacket, when he heard a deafening sound from the other end of the room – the end where Sam was trying to contain the raging poltergeist.

Startled by the sudden noise and with a sick feeling in his stomach, Dean turned around just in time to see his little brother being smashed against a wall, the joints in his back cracking awfully. Sam's scream was loud and piercing and it rang in Dean's ears, made him cringe and abandon his work immediately. He crossed the room in wide steps, the sawed-off shotgun in his hand and ready to fire.

“Sammy, you okay?” he roared over the rattling noises coming from the ghost's movements before he shot in the rough direction of the supernatural bastard. He didn't hit the poltergeist and, even worse, there was no answer from Sam. Dean spun on his heels to check on his brother and was relieved when he found Sam standing upright, his back against the wall and his fingers clutching a silver blade. A small rivulet of blood trickled from his temple but he seemed okay, nothing to worry about- aside from the poltergeist, who seemed to decide that Sam was the lesser threat and to finish him first.

“Watch out, Sam,” was the last thing Dean could scream before the ghost was all over his little brother again, its cold fingers clinging to Sam's jacket, tearing and yanking the fabric away in an attempt to get to his thrumming heart. Sam dropped the useless blade and tried to fight the son of a bitch off, kicking and bucking like an untamed foal, but it was no use.

Dean felt his heart racing a million miles per hour in his chest and he was already on his way towards his brother when he felt it: the now familiar prickling of Sam's psychic powers raining down on him, raising goose-bumps and nearly tripping him. “Sam, no,” was the only thing Dean could choke out before the poltergeist exploded in a cloud of gray smoke and black dust. It was only half a second before the pain reached Dean and the hunter immediately stopped in his run, his knees buckling and forcing him down into the dust.

“Sam,” Dean gasped and tried not to puke at the searing, thundering pain in his body, smiting every muscle, cutting his sinews and almost breaking his bones. But Sam didn't stop, his eyes pitch black when he turned to face his kneeling and blood-spitting brother. He was so lost in himself, so deeply caged in his will to defend himself, that he didn't even realize that the danger was already eliminated and he was now fighting his Brother.

“Sam, you have to stop,” Dean mewled and another gush of blood spilled past his lips, splashing against the dusty ground and coloring it crimson. “Please stop.”

But Sam was long gone. He had lost control and his whole body vibrated with energy, the air around him stirring. There was a quiet sizzling noise, like electricity slowly burning its way through a human body, whispering in Dean's ears.

“Sam, Sammy, please,” Dean whined again and was almost sick at the sound of two of his ribs breaking, the new flash of pain shooting along his nerves and sending sparks of unconsciousness towards his brain. Blood dripped out of his nose and there was still no movement from Sam, no sign that his little brother recognized what he was about to do.

Dean choked and tasted more copper. “Sammy, y-you have to concentrate,” he pleaded and he tried to force himself to his feet again. “Focus! That's n-not you, that's not -AAAAH!” A scream cut Dean off the moment he felt the skin of his face breaking, cut open by the unstoppable force radiating from Sam's body. Two long gashes opened themselves on Dean's left cheek, deep and painful, and the hunter howled loudly, his hands flying up to clutch the open wounds while more blood spilled free.

“Sam, you have to remember who you are,” Dean screamed and his body ached, his mind already numb with pain and the effort to kneel upright. He wasn't going to last much longer. “This isn't you S-Sam, this is not my brother.” There was another pulse of power and Dean felt his nose break with a sickening sound. “Sam, Sammy,” was the last thing he choked out before he felt the screaming, searing pain ebb away and with a deep-drawn sigh he fell into merciful darkness.

Dean wasn't allowed to stay there for long and he keened the moment he felt someone tugging at his collar, strong hands circling the nape of his neck.

“Dean, wake up! God, don't go.” It was Sam's voice, thick with tears and his throat tight with guilt. “Wake up, keep going, Dean! I'm gonna make it up to you, please.”

“S'okay Sammy,” Dean slurred and bit back a moan when he cracked an eye open, his left lid swollen from a deep cut on his eyebrow. “'M not going anywhere.”

“I'm so sorry Dean, I wasn't- that wasn't me, I lost control. I didn't even-”

“Yeah I know Sammy,” Dean cut him off and tried to listen into his body, mentally reaching out for his aching bones and flesh. “'S not your fault,”

“I am so sorry.”

“I know.” Dean's voice burnt in his throat and he wheezed and gagged when Sam hauled him up on his feet, his fingers digging into his big brother's aching flanks. “Just get me outta here, Sam.”

And Sam did, dragging and pushing their bodies forward until they reached the car, dropping Dean on top of the hood. He pulled out an emergency kit and started patching his brother up, seeing to the wounds on his swollen cheeks first. He dabbed away the blood in silence, wiped sweat and dust from Dean's chin and forehead, ignoring his brother's half whimpered, half barked protests and finishing his work patching up the hunter's nose.

He then stepped back, his face a mask of blank horror. “What happened inside that house, that... that wasn't me Dean. I was so scared when that bastard got me and suddenly there was this... this power inside my chest. And I reached for it and it felt good and right and I... I didn't know, I couldn't even see-”

“S'okay Sammy, just stop it,” Dean croaked and spread his fingers on top of the broken ribs, supporting the burst bones. “I know that, alright, I know that you didn't want to hurt me. But we have to find a way for you to control it, you hear me?”

Sam ducked his head as he tried to hide the tears swelling in his eyes underneath his shaggy bangs. “Yeah,” he mumbled and his voice was so thick with despair it cut Dean's heart. Guilt oozed from Sam's strained body and seeped into his brother's bones.

“No need to cry, you giant baby,” Dean joked and winced at the rattling laugh that forced its way out of his heaving chest. “We're gonna fix it. It's nothing we can't handle, right?”

Sam sniffed and when he spoke up again, Dean felt himself thrown back into their childhood. “Okay, De.”

“We just have to find something that brings you back, right? Something that keeps you from using that spark. What made you stop today?”

“You,” Sam stated matter-of-factly and he stepped closer to his brother, towering over him when he softly combed his fingers through Dean's hair, his touch light as a feather. “Your voice telling me that it wasn't me,”

Dean nodded. “Well, that's a start, right?” he mused and tilted his head slightly, relishing the soothing warmth Sam's body radiated.

“I'm so sorry,” the younger man whispered again as he leaned in to brush his lips against Dean's unharmed temple, his tickling breath ghosting over Dean's skin, calming his still fluttering nerves.

“Would you stop it now, Sammy, and just get us out of here?” Dean slurred and curled his fingers around the hem of his brother's jacket, yanking him closer until they were face to face. “I need a beer and a fuck and then I'm gonna sleep for the rest of the year.”

Sam chuckled and Dean felt a leaden weight drop from his heart at the sound. “I'll make sure you'll get your beer,” Sam's dimples showed the moment his lips stretched into a thin smile. “But let's delay the sex until next week, okay?”

“C'mon Sammy, I don't break that easily.” And with that they stumbled into the Impala and left the haunted house, the town and the state before the sun dawned in the east.

**Author's Note:**

> Beta'd by the secret love of my life [Jess](http://madefrommemoriesff.tumblr.com/). ~~I love you so much it drives me insane, baby.~~
> 
> I won the competion, and I still don't know why. UwU


End file.
